Reflections
on Luke 15:17-19
But when he came
to his senses, he said, “How many of my father's hired men have more than
enough bread, but I am dying here with hunger!”
Luke 15:17
Tell me, why does it take so long for common sense to
kick back in -- after we’ve trashed it, beaten it down, and mocked its stupid
reminders so we could go and do what we should never have gone and done? When
it does kick in, why does it take forever long to listen? Listen to the point
we act? Act so we can change.
My friends.
He worked with them every day in the fields, side by
side. Some of them he’d known from childhood. They’d been with his family that
long. He grew up with their kids – played with them. And now, some of them
worked the fields too. All of them, hired servants, but really, more like
family. More like friends.
They had it better than him now. Their stomachs were
full. Their beds warm. Their bodies, their clothes, clean in the morning’s
light. Their boss provided for them, loved them. His boss barely gives him the
scraps off his table.
Their boss, his father.
Common sense: Go back to him.
How long had it been since he’d given him a second’s thought?
Or remembered the look on his face when he grabbed the money and left him
standing there? On the road. Crying. He didn’t care then. He cares now. He’s
hungry. He’ll die here if he doesn’t do something. Common sense: Go home. Make
things right.
But things aren’t right. He admits it. What he did to his
father. His life here, the choices he made. The fun, the parties, the women,
the laughs, all of it. If he goes back, if he faces his father, he’s got to
tell him, “My father, I have sinned…”
The word spits bitter from his mouth. It awakens a sense
in him long since gone, dead, buried. From his childhood, he knows these
things, he’s always known them. God – the glories of His heavens – the
knowledge of right and wrong that makes us want to do right, live right, because
He is God. He made us. He loves us.
Uncommon Sense: Get right with God.
Why? Because he has sinned against Him. He has chosen the
selfish life. The immoral life. Dishonoring his father. Breaking every law God
ever set for our good. He has to say it again. His eyes now lifted up: “My Father,
I have sinned…”
Tell me, why does it take so long to hear from our
uncommon sense? And when we do, to listen – really listen? But, this time, it
moves him. He gets up, he ends his days with the pigs, he packs his few
remaining things and begins the long journey home. It’s time to start putting
things right. With God. With dad.
“I am not worthy to be your son.”
“Make me like my friends. Fed. Clothed. Warm. Alive.”
But, even now, the bitter taste remains. After all he’s
done, why should his father – let alone his Heavenly Father -- even give him
audience? And if he does, why say yes? He’s not worthy of it. He doesn't
deserve it. And for the first time, in a long time, he knows it.
*
* *
It
was the last time Erilynne saw Callie at the hospital. She was discharged the
next day and, soon enough, Erilynne knew she’d be calling – pushing -- to
resume her position at church. But what would she tell her?
In
her prayer journal, she wrote:
I am terribly confused. Again, I say, Callie is good at what
she does. She seems strong and confidant in her relationship with You. This is
what makes her a good Bible teacher. It’s why women seek her out for counsel
and prayer.

Years ago, at a dinner party, Callie’s mother made the
strangest comment to me. “She’ll hide in the shadows if you let her. Always
living somebody else’s story. Not her own.” At the time, I didn’t think much of
it. But it stayed with me. And now, I wonder. Is this the real Callie? Not the
gifted Christian leader but the one hiding in shadows? I feel like this is the
one I met at the hospital.
And now, she’s scared. She needs me to pretend I never
saw her like that so she can go on being what everyone needs her to be.
Two very different people.
Father, I don’t know what to say to her. Help me help
her. Give me wisdom. Scatter the shadows around her and bring the light of Your
Son into her heart. Through Jesus Christ my Lord. Amen
Erilynne
texted me at work Wednesday morning. “Guess who’s coming to see me this
afternoon?”
“Perfect
timing if it’s Callie,” I wrote.
“It
is. She wants answers. She’s back at the
women’s Bible study tomorrow.”
“What
are you going to say?”
“Don’t
know. Grasping at straws, pray.”
A
little after four in the afternoon, Erilynne sent me an email that was part
letter and part journaling.
Thad-
Callie arrived a little past one. Relaxed and easy going.
We sat in the kitchen, I made some tea, and we chatted for a while. Mostly
about what she’s been doing since she left the hospital ten days ago. Dave. The
kids. Getting back into routine. She’s still a bit overwhelmed by all the
cards, flowers, and meals that keep on coming. She said she never expected it in a million
years.
“You are very loved,” I assured her.
She gave a quick nod and admitted, “I’m nervous about tomorrow.”
“Are you ready to come back?”
“Yeah, I think I am,” she said, but the push was gone. And
then she told me it’s why she’d come. “But is it ok just to be there and not do
anything?”
I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“I need some time,” she said. “I know this is going to
sound crazy to you. But I’m going to say it and hope you understand. Are you
ready?” I nodded, not sure where she was going with this. “I don’t think I’m a
Christian, not really.” And then she looked at me – waiting for a reaction.
Wondering if she could go on.
“It’s ok,” I whispered.
Then she said, “You know, I’ve been to the psych ward
before. Not as a patient but as a counselor to other women. So I decided, when
I was there, to use my counseling skills on myself. What I said to them, I said
to me. Do this. Pray this. Read this. Try this. All common sense principles
from the Bible. It may have helped others…” She shook her head, looked straight
at me, almost hard.
“I actually laughed out loud.”
“Why?”
She didn’t respond at first. She sipped her tea. She
changed the subject. I’m telling you, she’s the prodigal daughter. Stuck at the
pig sty. Having no idea how to get home. She rambled a bit but eventually
circled back.
“I have a hard time receiving. I hate being the center of
attention. I’ve never felt worthy, never, of anybody’s love – let alone God’s.
And now, after what I’ve done, I don’t know what to do. I mean, I’ve got all
the answers for everybody else.”
And then she pointed to her heart and shook her head.
“But it’s not here.”

“Would you mind?”
I told her I’d love to. I think the prodigal daughter wants
me to help her home. Amazing, huh?
Erilynne
1 comment:
Beautiful!
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